I recently read a wonderful play called Rounding Third, by Richard Dresser. It tells the story of two little league coaches with conflicting philosophies about baseball and life. The two men are paired together for the season–for better or worse–as head coach and assistant. Don, the head coach, strongly believes in playing to win. He coaches because he wants to give kids a fighting chance to succeed in a cruel world. Michael, the assistant, wants to encourage the kids to have fun no matter what the final game score, and he wants each individual to feel unconditionally accepted. It’s an interesting philosophical contrast.
Oh, and the dialogue between the two characters is laugh-out-loud funny. I found myself cracking up and snickering aloud on at least every other page.
Here’s a short excerpt, in which the competitive, alpha-male head coach Don explains that his son Jimmy, the team’s star pitcher, has suddenly quit little league in order to appear in the school production of Brigadoon:
MICHAEL [assistant coach]: I had no idea Jimmy was a song and dance man.
DON [head coach]: You think you know your own kid and then…whack! You get hit in the face with a two-by-four.
MICHAEL: You know, [my son] Frankie went through this stage of wearing his mother’s shoes and scarfs and belting out old Motown songs in front of the mirror: “Stop! In the name of love!”
DON: Is this supposed to make me feel better?
MICHAEL: The point is this: When Barbara and I finally accepted that this little whirling diva was Frankie, he announced he was going out for soccer and that was it for the Supremes.
DON: Interesting personal anecdote, Michael. Much appreciated. Jimmy hasn’t sunk to the dress stage yet, but this sure as hell is a wake-up call. Here I am, trying to brace myself for when he knocks up a girl or gets busted for dope and he goes and pulls this Brigadoon nightmare out of his ass. Who could have seen this one coming?
MICHAEL: Don’t blame yourself. These kids, they’re strange and inscrutable beasts.
DON: We had it out last night. He wouldn’t cave in like he usually does. Has his heart set on the school play.
MICHAEL: So why were you late [to practice today]?
DON: Michael, I did something I’m not proud of.
MICHAEL: What did you do?
DON: I offered him money to play ball.
MICHAEL: Really? How much?
DON: Jesus Christ, does it matter how much? [Pause.] Twenty bucks a game.
MICHAEL: Wow. We have, what, six games left plus the playoffs, times twenty—
DON: Hey, it’s his identity, his future, it’s who he is. I was an athlete, that’s how everyone knew me. It got me out of final exams and into bed with girls. It got me through the endless crap they throw in your way to try to break you down and kill you. How can you put a price on that?
MICHAEL: So what did he say?
DON: He wanted fifty a game.
MICHAEL: I guess Jimmy could put a price on it.
The two coaches—through their opposing philosophies—approximately represent the Kabbalistic sefirot—or divine attributes—of Hesed (open compassion) and Gevurah (strict standards, assertiveness). According to the Zohar and the Jewish mystical tradition, our job is to balance these two forces as much as possible in our own psyches and in the world around us.
What do you think? To what extent is it possible to balance the need for competition in a cruel world with the need for sweetness and compassion? To what extent is it possible to educate children to balance these two approaches? Is one approach more important than the other?
